Fortitude and Redemption
by Velveteen Rabbit 456
Summary: What if Matthew had been injured before he planned on returning to Downton, before he even proposed to Lavinia? Season 2 AU M/M fic. Will feature bits of S/T and E/A starting in chapter 2.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: So I've decided to try my hand at fanfiction. First, I would like to thank CIS2011 and Patsan. Without their continued encouragement, I would never have published this story or even considered writing. I originally planned on finishing the entire story before even publishing chapter one. But I realized that it would take way too long. So I'll try to update regularly. But I make no promises, as I'm very busy with schoolwork._

Prologue—winter 1915

Matthew Crawley and his squad sought refuge beneath the thickness of the snowy pine trees. Quietly, they ate, drank, and chatted, huddled around the inadequate, sputtering fires that they depended on to keep warm. Though the environment proved less treacherous than the trenches, the frigid surroundings only reaffirmed the feeling that they were stuck in limbo. This only served as transition to the next trench.

As Matthew gnawed pensively on a hunk of raw, stringy meat, he reflected on the startling changes the first months of war brought on to a soldier's outlook on life. War would bring men from optimism crashing to pessimism and then to relativism. To cope with the impending carnage, men constantly reminded themselves that they would be lucky to _only_ sustain a bullet wound to the arm or an amputation below the knee—especially when countless men lost their lives each day. Matthew had yet to face injury or death. _He ought to consider himself fortunate to not be trapped in the trenches during winter time_ he thought grimly. The trenches were nothing but mud and rock. The battlefields were much the same—dusty, desolate hell-scapes without a tree or sign of green to break the monotony.

The English battalion never heard the Germans charging toward their camp. The thick powdering on the ground muffled the treading sounds of their boots. The trees and howling wind blocked out the rustling of jackets and artillery.

It was only until the Germans came within mere feet from the English camp that Matthew and men sensed anything amiss. They were unaccustomed to this environment or terrain. Thrust into survival mode, the men instantly dropped their belongings and grabbed the nearest machine gun. They formed a combat line and pounded forward in resistance. Fortunately, it appeared that the element of surprise was the only advantage the Germans held. Also in a transitioning period, the Germans appeared battered and ill equipped for combat. However, this did not prevent either side from fighting a bloody, ferocious battle.

Matthew ducked as bullets hissed passed him, a few coming within inches of his skull. Many men already lay fallen, with blood pouring out in great quantities. He forged on. Then he hurdled straight into the openness, pushing though sheer exhaustion. When he came face to face with a German, he drove the sharpened point of his bayonet straight though the soldier's erratically beating heart. But just as Matthew pulled the bayonet back, he felt an excruciating stab of pain in his own chest. Blood stained the snow, somehow symbolizing how the bloodbath had forever defiled the landscape. He groped blindly. He clutched his right rib and crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

He succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

Ever since Downton Abbey had transformed into a convalescent home, it seemed as though every last corner of Great Britain had been engulfed in the frenzy of the war effort. No person or place slipped past unscathed. Mary thought it disconcerting that even Downton, the bastion of old world stability, had doubled over to assist her country in prevailing through the carnage. It brought her to the startling revelation that even she needed to change. It meant more than simply adjusting her lifestyle as if the war were a mere inconvenience.

Mary sought her own niche amidst the chaos. Edith had recently accepted a job as a part time journalist who spoke with injured convalescents and published their stories. Sybil hoped to secure a full time nursing position at Downton's village hospital. Mary demonstrated strong leadership qualities. She resolved to assist Isobel in organizing schedules and planning charity events. She also acted as a crucial buffer between Isobel and Cora during their routine power struggles.

When Cora received the telephone call informing them that Matthew was injured, Isobel was far too occupied and irritable to deal with Cora. At Lord Grantham's entreaty, Cora had hoped to conceal this news from Mary. But seeing that Isobel hadn't forgiven their latest squabble, Cora reluctantly asked Mary to inform Isobel that her son was scheduled to be shipped back to Downton within the week.

Mary and Isobel stepped into the back entrance to receive the latest sample of collateral damage. Occasionally, a new batch of injured soldiers would enter the premises in especially horrid condition. Such cases served as harbingers of the vicious battles only glossed over in the newspapers. They became the first signals of how the allies were faring. Anybody blind or deaf could comprehend the gravity that was warfare. Even someone _both_ blind and deaf would find the odor of the hospital rooms absolutely sickening. Many of those who returned in one piece suffered invisible wounds equally devastating. Soldiers and officers often returned from the front with personalities marred by shell shock and sanity destroyed by memories of nameless, pulverized bodies strewn across a barren wasteland.

Agitated staff members paced the edge of the room as Thomas carried in the last patient who groaned at every minute shift of the stretcher. The gruesome sight before Mary brought her to an abrupt halt. She stood frozen. Outwardly, she seemed the epitome of professional, calm indifference. But inwardly, she recoiled at the sight of Matthew writhing in unimaginable pain.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: The latter half of this chapter introduces the S/T and E/A storylines. This is primarily an M/M fic. However, the more I plotted out the future, the more involved S/T and E/A became. So expect to see a lot more of them throughout this story. I really hope that I've done these two ships justice! I would love to hear your feedback!_

* * *

Tentatively, Mary overturned the tag containing Matthew's preliminary diagnosis from France. _Broken leg, broken ribs, and punctured lung_ it read. The terse and unforgiving words contained no trace of eloquence, not a single embellishment to soften the blow. The tag was clinical and unfeeling. Yet the sheer gravity of those words sent Mary's thoughts reeling down dangerous territory.

Mary's vision clouded over with a poignant sting. She couldn't help but notice the striking parallels to their previous encounter at the garden party last year. This was far from how she had envisioned reconnecting with Matthew. The thoughts of Matthew's utter sense of degradation (both now and before) caused her to shudder. Everything—his hopes and self esteem—was about to come crashing down as it had the day he withdrew his proposal and hastily enlisted in the army. She saw before her a man suffering too keenly to even feel indignant over the gross injustice of warfare. Barely choking back a sob, she experienced overwhelming guilt burn down the length of her spine.

Matthew's incoherent voice interrupted Mary's reverie. Her ears strained to understand. But Matthew's obstructed airways prevented him from clearly expressing himself. Perfectly in tune with his needs, Mary wasted no time and fetched him a glass of fresh water. She raised the glass to his lips, watching him drink greedily while Isobel discussed the prognosis with Dr. Clarkson.

"I hope you're feeling a bit less groggy." Mary surveyed Matthew's drawn appearance.

As Mary looked up, Dr. Clarkson motioned for Mary to come forth. Isobel's face turned haggard. Matthew listened from afar. Dr. Clarkson spoke with as much sensitivity as he could muster. "It seems that lieutenant Crawley has sustained significant damage to his right ribcage and right lung, not to mention his broken leg. If you notice lieutenant Crawley coughing up blood or any strange smelling fluids, please notify me or Isobel. If his condition worsens, we may need to drain his lung. He will require constant attention. Recovery will be particularly painful. I think it would be best if you two alternate nursing shifts to care for him."

Just as she opened her mouth to volunteer the first shift, her mother entered. With her lips pressed in a tight line, Cora silently beckoned her away from Isobel and suggested that she prepare for bed. Mary said her goodbyes to Isobel and Dr. Clarkson, promising to visit Matthew the next morning. In the background, she heard Cora and Isobel arguing fiercely over something she couldn't discern.

* * *

Suppressing a groan, Mary understood that the brief sense of calm at Downton could never have lasted. Her mother's power struggles with Isobel splintered throughout the house, and servants constantly received conflicting instructions. Both women consulted with Mary daily. Each revealed their own set of complaints about the other. But at Granny's insistence, it was always _Mary_ who reconciled them—if only for a short while.

Until now, the war effort had successfully diverted Cora from the topic of finding Mary a husband. With men dying by the thousands, Cora was hard pressed to probe out a reasonable selection of eligible bachelors. But with Aunt Rosamund's help, she organized a dinner party at Downton and scouted out _six_ scraps of potential husband material.

As Cora slipped into Mary's bedroom, she reconsidered informing Mary of her plans. Clearly stressed from the day's work, Mary shot her a baleful glare, already sensing her mother's intention of flinging suitors at her. _It's just like that time Mama came in to beg me to flirt with Sir Anthony Strallan, practically ordering me to marry whoever sat next to me at dinner _reflected Mary. Both Mary and Cora braced themselves.

"I was hoping to catch you alone," began Cora. "I need to brief you on tomorrow's plans," her voice raised ever so slightly on the word "plans." Cora was purposely vague, knowing that her daughter would instantly recoil if she launched any conversation with talk of suitors. Hopefully, Mary would initially assume that she was referring to the schedule for recovering officers at Downton. In apprehension, Cora clasped her hands and gave Mary a classic overly earnest expression.

"Isobel already briefed me on the schedule…the one that you approved of course." Mary raised a delicately sculpted eyebrow. She was not so easily fooled. Mama's reaction only confirmed her suspicions. But Mary made an effort to soften her expression, nodding for Cora to continue.

"Actually," Cora's lips puckered, "we're hosting a dinner party and I've invited Aunt Rosamund and several other…important guests."

"Oh don't tell me. You've invited Sir Anthony Strallan back again," Mary was half joking.

"Actually, he _is_ one of the honored guests…along with five other eligible men. So at least you won't have to pay him exclusive attention."

Mary sighed. "Don't you have more important things to do, such as contribute to the war effort or quarrel some more with Isobel?"

"I know that since running the convalescent home, I've neglected the most crucial point in your future. But I always put my daughter's interests first."

"Who did Aunt Rosamund invite?" Mary dearly hoped that her choices topped Anthony Strallan.

"She has invited a man named Sir Richard Carlisle and his colleague Michael Gregson who is also Edith's editor. Not my first choices either. But the war as forced us to lower our standards."

Deeply offended, Mary bit back a sharp remark. She also refrained from telling Mama that she had already met them in person, and taken an instant dislike to them both. Sir Richard was tolerable. Bit she absolutely couldn't stand Gregson and his sense of entitlement because of his association with Edith.

"And your choices?" Mary pressed further.

"Aside from Anthony Strallan, I've invited our old friend, Tony Foyle. And also Evelyn Napier who will be bringing his friend, Charles Blake."

* * *

Matthew roused to the warm, bristling sensation of Mary running a damp towel down his neck. His eyes remained shut. His aching muscles relished the feeling of warmth permeating his skin and diffusing throughout his body. Languidly, he opened his eyes. The sight of Mary cleansing his most intimate areas sliced through the haze of unconsciousness.

He sat up abruptly. A fresh spike of pain pierced his chest, leaving him nearly too winded to speak. Though he seemed less drawn than before, his breathing had worsened considerably. It came in labored, wheezing gasps. A strangled sob wretched itself from deep within Matthew's gut, accompanied by an uncontrollable urge to heave.

Mary snatched the bedpan. She gently rubbed Matthew's back as he emptied out the contents of his stomach. A foul mixture of stomach acid, war food, and blood poured into the pan. The mere taste tempted Matthew to vomit again. The pan felt warm in Mary's hands. Mary cradled his head lovingly and watched his eyelids droop. Subconsciously, Matthew reached for her hand and held onto it like a lifeline. Just as she began dosing off herself, Matthew let out a bitter chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Mary asked.

"It seems like only a short while ago, I turned you down. And now look at me. I'm an impotent cripple stinking of sick. You've got to admit that it's quite funny how our fortunes have reversed."

"All I'll say is that you've survived the war, and that's enough for now. Nothing is permanent."

Mary noticed the copious amounts of blood settling in the pan. The strange liquid reeked of bacteria and decay. Suddenly, she recalled Dr. Clarkson's warning and immediately went to fetch Isobel. Her heart dropped. Her heart fractured at the realization of what Matthew would endure.

* * *

The formal dinner party that night stood in sharp contrast to the halls filled with boisterous officers playing cards during the daytime. It contrasted even more sharply with the grim hospital rooms that housed injured men—a fact that Isobel never hesitated to point out to Cora.

"It seems strange doesn't it," Isobel quipped, "that men staying under our roof are fighting for their lives as we speak. But we're hosting this ostentatious affair?"

"Some people are just better at keeping their personal lives separate from the war," Cora bit back. Sitting between Isobel and Mary, she quickly shifted her attention back to Mary. "Anthony Strallan is just itching for an excuse to converse, if only you would allow him an opening," she whispered.

Mary didn't respond. _Nice try Mama _she thought._ There's no reason Sir Anthony should seek me out after last spring. I'm sure I've successfully discouraged him. Why doesn't Mama set her hopes on Edith?_

"Mary is very keen on taking a drive through the village again, aren't you Mary?" Cora was determined to get as much traction out of this dinner as she could.

"Perhaps someday…when the war is over of course," Mary answered. As she had hoped, Sir Anthony showed no genuine interest. But his ears twitched when Mary asked "what about you Edith? You're always keen to get out of the house?"

"Oh it's been too long!" Edith seized at the opportunity to gain positive attention. "But of course there are my weekly meetings with my editor, Michael Gregson." she gestured across the table.

"Yes, my newspaper sales have dramatically increased since I began featuring columns written by a member of the aristocracy. I must say, they are quite a hit!" Gregson boasted and subtly leered at Edith. Through his peripheral vision, he noticed Strallan immediately avert his gaze and clench his jaw. Gregson smirked.

"I may have to follow Gregson's lead and find an aristocratic lady for my own newpapers." Sir Richard slyly cut Gregson off.

Seeing Edith again plagued Sir Anthony with self-doubt and unbearable regret. In the last year, she had truly blossomed. Her hair was much improved from her previously frumpy, awkward style. Though she wasn't radical enough to bob her hair like the women in Paris, she embraced the finger wave trends. It did wonders. London had treated her well. Her wardrobe was noticeably more sleek and fashionable. Gone were the plain frocks and colors that clashed with her complexion. Anthony Strallan wilted under Michael Gregson's scrutinizing gaze. He realized what a fool he was to have let her go.

Recently, he had stumbled across one of her columns in _The Sketch_. It piqued his interest but also reminded him that he was old and she was young. She was just now spreading her wings. Despite Gregson's comment about Edith's aristocratic position boosting his sales, Anthony understood that her merit extended far beyond that. Her writing showed promise.

Anthony Strallan also noted that her relationship with Mary had somewhat improved, as Edith no longer seemed intent on tearing Mary down. She had found her own sphere. Her newfound occupation had given her purpose beyond competing a losing competition with Mary. He also understood that although he always quietly championed Edith, he had never truly fought for her. It hadn't taken very much to discourage him before. But he resolved seek Edith out after dinner so that he could confess to her before Gregson stole his opportunity.

For a few minutes, they all are in silence. This afforded Mary the chance to finally observe all of Mama and Aunt Rosamund's guests. All of them had accepted their invitation. Carefully probing around the dining room, Mary's eyes halted on one particularly unwelcome guest. _It was Larry Grey._ Mama had not mentioned him in their earlier conversation. However, Mary remembered Papa expressing disapproval of Sybil's desires to become a nurse. Mary overheard him pleading with Cora to find Sybil a husband before she could secure the position.

Larry picked apart at his food almost daintily, eating only the best bits of each dish, Mary noted with distaste. _Mama really wasn't kidding when she said that she lowered her standards for us, _she lamented. _Sybil would sooner marry the chauffeur than that wastrel of a man. _Mary saw Sybil seated beside Larry but tactfully engaged in conversation elsewhere.

To Mary's surprise, it wasn't a footman who served the second round of courses, but Branson, the chauffeur. The recent deployment of able-bodied footmen caused an acute shortage of service. Branson mostly avoided eye contact with the guests, clearly unaccustomed to acting as a footman. When he lowered the giant bowl of caviar for Larry Grey to dish out, Larry simply glared.

"You're not doing it right." Larry snapped. "You're not very accommodating for a footman."

Branson's livid expression far outclassed Larry's scowl. His self confidence and impertinence secretly unnerved Larry. "What would someone like you know about being a servant?" Branson's Irish brogue caught everyone's attention. "When you haven't had to work a day in your life?"

Larry merely scoffed. "Oh I still make my own fortune…as a _successful_ businessman. In fact, the war has presented some ripe investment opportunities. I'm investing all of my stock in the new Canadian Railway Fund and encourage you to do so as well, Lord Grantham."

To all three sisters' dismay, Robert took a genuine interest. Mary observed the cogs of his brain working rapidly. She turned to Sybil and asked "is Papa seriously considering business advice from Larry Grey?"

"I sure hope not. I do worry for Papa." Sybil replied. "But I also admire Branson for holding his own against Larry. It's not very often that servants get to stand up for themselves."

Before Branson or Larry could escalate, Isobel clumsily switched topics. "Sybil, I've secured you a full time nursing position at the village hospital. Your training begins tomorrow at eight in the morning."

Lord Grantham's eyes bulged. He immediately forgot about Branson and Larry. Cora visibly lamented her failure to match make Sybil before it was "too late." Robert's fork clanked onto his plate.

"And when did you plan on telling me that you actually applied. Here I thought you were only entertaining some foolish fantasy while all the while, you were going behind my back!" Robert verged on bellowing. Cora lightly grazed her husband's arm, warning him not to continue his tirade. Violet shot him down with a single glare.

"But it's not a foolish fantasy at all!" Sybil's resolution strengthened. "I'm determined to help injured men in need—to feel useful for once! It's doing nothing that's the enemy. Nothing you say will change my mind!"

"For once, I agree with Sybil," the dowager countess piped in. "Mary and Edith have both rallied for the war effort. We must let Sybil have her chance."

"Thank you Granny," Sybil felt relieved. She glanced across the table and accidently locked eyes with Branson. He gleamed at her with pure admiration and pride—just as he had the day Sybil had bravely donned the turquoise harem pants. _Bravo milady_ he mouthed. Now, she could never bring herself to regret speaking out. When his expression softened (almost imperceptibly), a strange warmth pooled deep within her gut and radiated through her chest. She blushed furiously.

Their brief moment didn't go unnoticed by Mary or Edith. Mary raised an eyebrow at Branson. Warily, she shifted her focus to Papa, hoping that he hadn't noticed. Otherwise, she feared another unnecessary scene. _I'm sure nothing can come out of it_; Mary dismissed the mere notion as impossible. _But Branson will be out of a job instantly if Papa ever finds out. Papa must never know._

What had begun as a huge matchmaking endeavor, ended as a showcase of family dynamics at Downton. Mary's suitors faded to the background, and none of them gained the opening to court Mary at all. Cora was disappointed to discover that Tony Foyle was newly engaged and Charles Blake was going on an extended trip abroad as a diplomat. Mary only had eyes for Matthew. She believed that she would never be happy with anybody else as long as he walked the earth. She not only longed to be by his side again, but to also keep Downton in order. Neither Cora nor Isobel were capable of running Downton's convalescent home singlehandedly. Because of her crucial role in mediating the two said leaders, she had inadvertently become the true leader. Her very identity was entwined with Downton and its wellbeing. This gave Mary a renewed sense of purpose. She understood Isobel's constant desire to be useful.

* * *

A few minutes before Edith left Downton to accompany Gregson to the train station, Anthony strode towards her, panting and nervous but full of resolve. Last night, he had been too passive, allowing Gregson to monopolize Edith's attention. He refused to allow this last opportunity slip by. Edith noticed that his red scarf and tweet cap were peppered with snowflakes. His pale eyes burned with silent desperation.

"I'm glad to see you looking so well, Lady Edith." He began. "How have these past months been for you? It seems that they have treated you well." His voice cracked.

"They have indeed," Edith smiled. "They've been nothing short of miraculous for me."

"Indeed." Whether out of anxiety or reaction to the cold, Anthony's teeth chattered.

"But I'm so glad to see you again!" Edith replied.

Gently, Sir Anthony cupped Edith's hand and mustered up his courage. "Lady Edith, I need to tell you something I've been meaning to tell you…since last night. I—

"EDITH!" Another voice interrupted, "the chauffeur is freezing and so am I! I must get to the station on time! I have important meetings to attend to today!"

Edith gave Strallan an apologetic glance and signaled that she was leaving. As the car sped into the foggy distance, he lingered behind, desperately hoping that Edith just might gaze back at him.

_Please look back at me_ he rasped. But the blustering winds swallowed his pleas into silence.

* * *

_A/N: Don't fear Andith shippers! I assure all of you that M/M, S/T, and E/A are all endgame. Also, if you're a huge fan of Gregson, this is your chance to step away. I've taken a few liberties with his character. My opinion of him may or may not change in season 4. But for now, neither he nor Sir Richard are the good guys. Please stay tuned!_

_Edit: I've gotten a few reviews asking about why suitors attend a dinner party during the war. My reasoning behind this is that the story starts about a year earlier than season 2 canon. So not all of the men have been actively deployed yet. Some are anxious to get engaged before they do. Many of the mentioned suitors will go to war soon__. The ones who aren't going to war include Richard, Branson, Gregson, Larry Grey, and Charles Blake._


End file.
